


Ghost in the Machine

by DetectiveRiley (RavenWhitecastle)



Series: The Sinner and the Saint [47]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worry, parasomnia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/DetectiveRiley
Summary: John remembers when he'd dream of gunfire and smoke. He isn't used to Harold dreaming in numbers and lines of code.
Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese
Series: The Sinner and the Saint [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/940422
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Ghost in the Machine

John had gotten used to sleeping alone. He still slept log straight facing the door- despite sleeping in an empty bed- with his hand under his pillow wrapped around his gun. He knew the feeling of cold sheets. He slept with one pillow.

Things changed when he moved in with Harold. The bedroom became multipurpose, for lack of a better word. It was comfortable and soft, and Harold had furnished it with throw pillows and blankets. John had gotten used to the gentle sinking of the mattress when Harold joined him in bed. He enjoyed the shared warmth. He memorized the feeling of Harold pressed up against him.

So of course he noticed when the space next to him was empty and cold. He woke up without Harold in his arms. A small part of him panicked, and he sat bolt upright in bed. He started running through all the possible reasons behind Harold’s absence until he heard the tapping of Harold’s keyboard coming from the office down the hall. John slipped out of bed and followed the sound.

Harold was sitting at his computer, typing fervently. John didn’t understand any of the lines of code flying across the screen, but Harold hadn’t done any programming since Samaritan had been dismantled months ago. 

“Harold?” John called softly, “What are you doing?”

Harold’s eyes didn’t leave the screen, and his fingers continued to type furiously. “The Machine,” he breathed, “I have to fix it.”

“The Machine?” John echoed, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It hasn’t learned, it hasn’t  _ learned _ .” Harold sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have to teach it to care about human life. I know you want it to work as much as I do, Nathan, I’m trying as hard as I can…”

_ Nathan _ . Harold’s old partner. Harold believed that the code he was writing was a piece of the Machine, several years in the past. “Harold,” John said, unable to keep the slight tremor from his voice, “The Machine is finished.” 

“But it hasn’t  _ learned _ -” Harold started, looking up at John with glassy eyes. He seemed to realize he wasn’t talking to his old friend, and his sentence stuttered to a halt. 

John padded across the floor to the desk and took Harold by the arm. “Come back to bed, Harold.”

Harold stood, and nodded, shuffling forward. “Yes… Yes, to bed. Right.” John watched him carefully, hands out-stretched in case Harold dozed off again. Harold walked awkwardly, his bad leg swinging like Harold was trying to walk normally. 

They made it to their shared bedroom, where Harold flopped onto the bed and went promptly back to sleep. Shaking his head, John joined him, gathering Harold in his arms and tucking them both in. But even with Harold held safely against his chest, John couldn’t sleep. 

Harold came to a few hours later. He shifted and blinked at John’s shape in the darkness. It looked like John was propped up against the headboard. “John,” he murmured, “Are you awake?”

John had been awake for a few hours, watching Harold like a hawk, half-afraid he was going to disappear again. “Yes,” he answered, “I’m up.”

Harold propped himself up to look in the direction of John’s face. “Is everything all right?”

There was a long pause as John debated what to tell Harold. Finally, he settled on the truth. “You were programming in your sleep. I don’t even know what you were working on, but you thought it was the Machine.”

At that, Harold released a heavy sigh. “My… apologies.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sorry, I should have told you. I suffer from parasomnia. I dream in numbers and lines of code, and every so often I get carried away. It hadn’t happened recently, but… I should have known I couldn’t hide it forever.”

John pulled Harold back to his chest. “I understand. When I was still working for the CIA, I would…” John swallowed. It was hard remembering the difficulties from his old job. It was harder to admit them out loud.

Harold stroked John’s shoulder soothingly. “It’s okay, take your time.”

After taking a deep breath, John continued. “I would sometimes wake up on the floor with my back against the wall, holding my gun. You don’t have to explain to me. You spend so much time doing one thing, it’s impossible to think about anything else.” He swallowed again. “But… if I’m being honest, I was worried about you.”

Harold nuzzled closer. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

John ran a hand through Harold’s hair. “It’s not your fault. I just can’t lose you.” He took a shaky breath. “Not again.”

Harold shifted, wrapping an arm around John’s waist. “Don’t worry,” he whispered into John’s neck, “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all of the angst! I feel like given the current circumstances, I should be posting more fluff, but this is your reminder that things aren't going to be horrible forever! Stay safe, love y'all.


End file.
